


In From the Rain

by Amata_Hawke



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Rainy Days, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amata_Hawke/pseuds/Amata_Hawke
Summary: Special thanks to enigmalea, resjade, and DirThenera. <3 Y’all rock.





	In From the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weird-in-thedas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Weird-in-thedas).

> Special thanks to enigmalea, resjade, and DirThenera. <3 Y’all rock.

The door bangs open as it’s shoved wide, bouncing off the stone wall of the estate. Soaked leather squeaks loudly on the flagstones from her boots, accented by the sound of bare feet striking the stones quietly behind her. She’s laughing, peals of brightness and mirth echoing in the foyer.

“You _had_ to take the extra hour to check that cave,” Fenris grumbles. The oiled armor of his gauntlets clanks just a little as he undoes the buckles, slipping the metal guards off of his arms. The sound is louder when he drops them unceremoniously on the bench along the wall.

Anna is still laughing, unperturbed by his sour tone. She gestures at the hearth and flames come immediately to her call, leaping up in the grate to cast merry shadows that dance across the wall. A light tang of woodsmoke is already winding its way around the sitting room, joining the hint of cinnamon that always hangs in nearly every room of their home. She looks back at him, her carefree smile softening into something sweeter at the sight of him roughly removing the gauntlets. Shucking off the spiky guard he so carefully presents to the world.

“Isabela insisted she left it in ‘the small cave around there.’ I wanted to be sure I got it in time for Aveline’s anniversary. That’s tomorrow.”

He looks back at her, an exasperated frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. He leans back against the wall next to the bench, arms folded, somehow managing to look down at her despite the fact that their eyes are on a level.“A two-hour walk back from the Wounded Coast,” he says, tapping a finger lightly against the crook of an elbow to emphasize each point. “In the middle of a midsummer thunderstorm. At sunset. _Alone_.”

He doesn’t fool her. His eyes betray him, as they always do. There’s a fine line of concern between his brows, but the corners of his eyes crinkle with barely-contained humor. A glimpse at that softness in him that he reserves for her.

“Hardly alone,” she scoffs. She steps forward to close the distance between them, lifts her left hand deliberately to rest lightly on his shoulder. Her index finger twiddles lightly with a lock of silver hair, still soaked through and dripping, cold against her touch. Tracks of rainwater still cling to his cheeks and forehead, tiny specks of water droplets caught on his long eyelashes. “I brought you, didn’t I?”

He looks into her eyes for a moment, considering her, and he’s visibly weakening. He drops the pretense of annoyance suddenly with a bark of laughter, throws his head back to nearly collide with the wall. He opens his arms and draws her closer, enfolding her in an embrace. She nuzzles into his neck, slips her arms around his waist. Her own waterlogged hair shifts in heavy locks, drops pitter-pattering on the stone floor. He smells of the rain, and of wet leather, and a trace of cinnamon spice, no doubt picked up from the house itself. She savors his warmth, and only then realizes how cold she is from the rain. The muscles in her arms start to twitch as if reminded to shiver, and Fenris tenses for a fleeting moment before an answering shudder runs through him.

“Let’s get out of these wet clothes,” she whispers. A low rumble of wordless agreement issues from him, and she reluctantly extricates herself from his arms. She steps back and turns away, her hands going immediately to the belt of her robes and she deftly unties it, casting it aside. She removes the garment in one perfunctory pull over her head, flings it onto the bench beside his discarded gauntlets. Left halfway inside-out, the hem flips up and casts water droplets over her naked skin before it collides with the stone wall with a thwack, sticking in place because of the wet. She shakes some of the water out of her hair with one hand, tiny hairs standing on end wherever the drops fall on her skin.

Anna looks back at Fenris to see him watching her with an appreciative eye, his hands stopped on a buckle on his leathers, and guffaws as she reaches out to assist him with removing the sopping “second skin” that makes up the bulk of his armor.

“Not now. Later, maybe. Warm up first.” She undoes a clasp and peels away a vambrace. He snorts at her, puffs air at the back of her neck as she’s looking down at her hands as she works. The sudden chill sends a wave of gooseflesh down her back and she yelps, yanks the vambrace off sharply. She smacks him with it and he chuckles, a warm rumbling sound that washes over her and makes her think eagerly of the couch and the warm blanket in front of the fire. She shakes her head at him and pulls back, striding off with mock indigence toward the the kitchen.

“Get it off yourself, then. I’m going to get us some tea.”

Fenris is laughing openly at her retreating back, and she smiles despite herself.

When she returns with two steaming mugs, Fenris has nearly finished stripping down to his smalls, working his foot out of his leather leggings. The firelight dances across his olive skin, across the hard muscle which slides gracefully as he shifts his weight. The brightness of his lyrium marks interrupts the harsh shadows; the gentle blue glow softening the angles of the lean muscles of his arms. The light of the flames plays across his still-wet hair, and it shines in a bright contrast to the darkness of his skin. Hawke finds herself momentarily distracted by Fenris’ form. He turns toward her, the light of the fire shifting over the line of his jaw and reflecting off of his mossy green eyes. He meets her gaze and smiles as he joins her, taking his tea wordlessly. He downs half of it in one long drag and hums with obvious pleasure at the warmth. Anna can sympathize; the heat from the tea is welcome after the cold in the rain.

He makes his way to the couch facing the fire and she follows. He sets down the mug on an end table and grabs the blanket that they always leave there, to be warmed by the fire for maximum comfort after a cold night on the streets of the coastal city. He slings it over his shoulders, holding one arm out to her in invitation, and she fits herself comfortably to his side. The blanket is hot and dry against her chilled skin, and the relief of it makes her shoulders sag as the tension goes out of her. Fenris wraps his arms—and the blanket—around them and guides her down onto the couch where they curl up together, savoring the warmth.

“I am… almost grateful for the rain,” Fenris says wryly. The fingers of one hand comb through her damp hair, gently undoing tangles.

“You _love_ the rain, and you know it,” Anna retorts, and his chest shakes beneath her with a silent laugh.

“If I do, then I have you to thank for it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fenris shifts her in his arms, places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”


End file.
